the narration inside complains
drink some water, you faint now.

yes body, i know.
im doing the best i can.

still entrenched in the comforts of sleep, I roll over and
am unconscious again within seconds
but all too soon
(hour and a half, tops)
i  awake again.

Leave the blankets on the bed,
my narrator commands,
as if i have some choice.
tripping and stumbling as my vision goes
dark, falling darker with
bursts of teal to
brighten up the gloom.
I make it to the bathroom
just in time to collapse,
cradling myself with  clammy hands
while the narration,
cruel and obsequious,
sings a reminder of fragility,
when the unknown wakes me in the night, body raining sweat
and surfacing suddenly on the duvet,
stripped, I curl
around myself
water, now
the narration commands, before you slip away again,
laughing as i desperately suckle  at salvation, that
plastic portable ****.

When it is empty
the hollowed bottle bounces off the wood floor.
I am asleep before the nausea pulls me under.

one month, body, only a month more.
im doing the best i can.

The privacy of a bathroom stall and
And two roommates
A triple by any other name

so closely identifying with
the toothpaste **** in
the sink
its like a skin, you know
the grime
it keeps things warm
but the conclusion, forever missing
the ever elusive reason why
(akin to opening a door to an empty room)
is mysteriously absent

the room is empty and I can throw my head against the wall with abandon

sighing, of course
to the ever present accompaniment
of fallen beauty products on a
gross tile floor slick with intentions

the room is occupied and I lift my head from the wall with cautious precision

these walls are thin and I hear
the meaningless sounds of people going about their day
the trite sound of a dropping book
or a sweatshirt being unzipped

the room is empty again, and will be for a while,  and the poster behind my shoulder curls in protest as I shift my shoulders to think better

Its all about half cleft clauses
These days the (most interesting)
People are mostly broken, like a
Ballerina with no toes
Or a singer with nodes
Belting crooked c’s at the
Top of a whisper
(any louder and people would hear)

They sell themselves, stories for
Cheap print and cocktail conversation
(I couldn’t imagine living through that!)
Their 15 minutes shortened to
A mere two or three
Or however long the dregs
Of a mildly disinterested mixed drink lasts

We’re drunk on self-pity
Stumbling to work
Pockets full of loose change and antidepressants
The younger child, Daughter of
Excellence but far from Perfection
We contend with our silence
Because it has become our language

Philosophy is recognizing
the simple truths that
lay beside us as we fall asleep
at night

Woman,
why are you bound by beauty?

melt the silver off your wrists
your ears your fingers
and fix your intelligence around your neck
not as an adornment
but as a symbol of your independence

90 degrees and I'm
freezing in flannel pajamas
I've got 20 more minutes of plant watering to do and
when I was a kid I had an apple corer
that did my work for
me cutting whatever part of the apple
its ill positioned teeth could sink into
I roll my saturated sleeves up wishing
I had stayed asleep at least
there I could pretend
the teenage sounds of a ska mix blaring through
wasted speakers don’t really exist
darling, have you come to pass the time with me?
you have a precious little mind.